I'll Paint Me Red
Poem By Rod Mendieta
I'll paint me red because
You are shooting robins today;
Tomorrow I'll paint me black
When you're out shooting crows.
I've spent too much time ensnared
In the sphere of the Ego
Caring only for the preservation
Of my petty ways and my flaws.
I've made a crack on the eggshell
Where the light is finally coming in.
Now I see I took shadows for the real thing.
Now I see the pulsing stairwell.
I chop off the foot that's
Been caught in the snare.
You hold me up, begging me to
Let you dress the wound.
But I cannot be held back,
Not now when I can finally see the way.
I said ‘no parting gifts' but you bring
A white rose from the garden of apologies.
I put it in the hollow of your eye socket
And tell you we must part ways
Because you are a child of the tyrant Death
And I am marked for birthing.
You wish me to feel offended
So that you can pride yourself
From being generous
Doling out apologies like precious gifts.
But the part of me that took offense
From stinging words,
From bitter slighting,
From cunning lies,
I've already left behind
To shrivel in the hot sand.
Your pleading clings to me
Like ashes to wet clothes;
Your tears hope to bog me down
In a mire of regrets.
We've been friends for too long
In the realm of the Sleepers.
Now it's time I climbed through
The opening crack on the eggshell,
Into the pulsing sphere where
Dead robins and crows awake
After restless slumbers.